Silk on Steel
by Draconian Elflord
Summary: Julia is gone. Spike blue as the sky and mad as hell. Faye's looking within herself to see if she can save him and herself. A SpikeFaye angst love pre and post Spike's death. Some sex and violence therof. Please R and R, but don't be cruel. Chap 7 up!
1. Sanity Erasing

Elflord: Alright, alright don't rub it in. Don't own Bebop. Don't own Faye. Don't own Spike. Don't own Ed. Don't own Julia. Don't own Jet. Don't own Vicious. Only own the ones I made up. Don't rub it in.  
  
A/N: As in all my fics, my stories never follow the plotline. These ideas are my own extensions/ explanations of the show, and though they are based  
on the show, they of course will not follow them directly.  
  
Silk on Steel  
  
Chapter One: Sanity Erasing  
  
The alarm buzzed with that annoying brangle that jolted her from her dream. Wearily, she slammed the "off" button, grumbling as she disentangled herself from her literal cocoon of blankets. She could almost break the damn clock. It was such a wonderful dream, and she never got bored of it. . .  
  
. . . Her, in his arms. Those arms that she had longed after for so long. Arms that she would never leave for the rest of her life, in heaven or hell. Wrapped around her waist, like she was the only woman in all of existence. Eyes . . . ill-matched eyes; one, full of compassion and truth, no matter how ugly that truth may be, accepting of pain and sorrow, the true window to his soul; the other, cold, metal, full of denial, a mask, that cold exterior he wielded like a shield to protect himself from all that he'd been through, all that tried to penetrate, all that could make him feel. That crazy, mop-flop hair that stuck in every direction, constantly unruly and untamable by comb or gel, those locks that had so gotten on her nerves but at the same time attracted her so, that annoying part of him that was also his charm. That long, arched neck, leaning in over her. His hand tightening around the small of her back, tilting her backwards, that elongated characteristic to his figure becoming so prominent. His lips groping over hers. Her own lips becoming firm under his. That kiss . . . one kiss that could last forever. . .  
  
The dream would always end just there. A kiss . . . a kiss she'd been longing for all of her life. But now it was all futility. Spike Spiegel would never love again.  
  
He could never love anyone but her. Her . . . that one thing he'd lost and had never stopped searching for until it was too late. And now it was all done. Life was gone for his life.  
  
And that went for her now, too.  
  
Six days. That's how long it had been since that terrible day. That night that the sunlight came to his eyes, and then just as fast, was ripped away. When that monster, that one that had caused him such pain, slipped out of the darkness in a fiery blaze, and then, stepping back into those shadows in which he dwelled, disappeared once again. A day that would be the end of the Spike Spiegel of the past. The day "she" died. And the day he died.  
  
That's how long it'd been since Spike had been out of his room. Most times, he refused to speak, and on the few rare occasions that he did, it would be a few short words. Faye had seen him two times in the last six days. Each time she saw him, he looked visibly thinner and paler. That brightness in his eyes she used to envy so was empty. Both times, he wouldn't look at her, wouldn't acknowledge her presence at all. She was too afraid to say anything. Afraid that the words inside herself weren't good enough for him and would only make everything worse. Afraid that she had been selfish, thinking she had the right to love him.  
  
Maybe afraid that he wouldn't love her back. Or maybe she was afraid he would.  
  
He'd been eating a little, or so they thought. At least it appeared so when Jet crept in to pick up the dishes every morning. He didn't wanna eat too much, so they adjusted portions. They couldn't expect much more for right now. The bright side was he was doing stuff. The worst thing in the world at a time like this would be to be lying on the bed staring at the ceiling. Even the sound of porn rewinding back and forth at one o'clock in the morning coming from his room was a good sign. Once in a while, he'd get up and train some more, but not nearly like he used to. Sometimes, he'd read or work on the computer. A couple times a day, he'd be in a meditative state, eyes closed, sitting bare to the waist on the floor, his back to door.  
  
"Faye!" her thoughts were suddenly burst open by the voice of Jet shouting across the Bebop. "Faye, you have to get up right now!"  
  
"What is it?" she yawned angrily, pulling off her pajamas and pulling on her clothes, then taking a few swipes through her luscious violet hair before pulling it back in a very sloppy ponytail. Most times, she took a long time on her appearance, but the last few days, she just didn't see the point.  
  
"Ed, that's what!" the voice of the disgruntled thirty-something former cop growled. "Put a move on it, would ya?"  
  
"What's she done now?"  
  
"You ain't gonna believe this," Jet suddenly burst into her room. "Look at this!" he brandished a note at her. She snatched it out of his hand, rubbing her eyes and grumbling. She could just make out the thirteen- year-cold's messy scrawl:  
  
"Ed leave. She go find Dad. He maybe on Earth, maybe somewhere else. Ed no know. She find somewhere. Jet-man, Faye-faye, and Spiky-dude no worry. Ed take care herself. Don't come look. Bye-eyes.  
  
Luv,  
Ed + Ein ."  
  
"Aww, man!" Faye exclaimed. "I mean, I'm prouda the girl, but she's such a pain."  
  
"No kidding," Jet groaned. "Well, c'mon!" he grabbed her roughly by the wrist. "We gotta catch up with 'em before they get too-"  
  
"Hold up!" she cried, pulling her arm away. "Am I mistaken, or did I just hear the word 'we'?"  
  
"Faye, for once in your life, can't you just be cooperative?"  
  
"Not if it means chasing after those two."  
  
"Alright," Jet threw his hands in the air. "I don't care. I give. But if you're not coming, you gotta baby-sit," he motioned toward the closed door of Spike's room. "And believe me, he ain't no piece a pie."  
  
"I can handle it," she growled, taking a few more swipes through her hair, which seemed to be fighting her.  
  
"Whatever you say," he started off towards the docking bay. "But remember . . . give him some space . . ."  
  
A few seconds passed, and she heard the doors slam, and about a minute later, she heard the roar of engines as he took off.  
  
"Sure . . . space," she groaned sarcastically. "Space case, if you ask me."  
  
Silence. Faye suddenly realized that the Bebop had never been so quiet before. No sounds of Ed, running around on another one of her escapades. No sounds of Jet, typing away grumpily, getting directions for the nearest bounty. She'd even be happy to hear a cheerful bark by Ein. But now there was nothing at all. And for the first time in the last six days, she wished he'd come outta there, even just to see him for one second.  
  
She went up to the door and knocked softly. No answer.  
  
"Spike?" she called softly, almost a whisper.  
  
"Go away," his voice called from within.  
  
"Yeah . . . sure," she answered, walking away.  
  
"He just needs space," she tried to lie to herself. "He'll be just fine. I don't know why I care, anyway. It's not like he means anything to me."  
  
But deep down inside, she knew that was a lie.  
  
He'd meant something ever since the day she'd met him. Sure, back then, he annoyed the hell out of her, but slowly but surely, Spike had a way of growing on anybody. Maybe it was just that little boyish charm. Maybe it was that brooding way he had and yet somehow was still able to remain carefree. Maybe it was that misery loves company. Spike had had plenty of that in his life.  
And then again, so had she.  
  
She started to run a shower for herself, tearing off her clothes and untying her hair. The warm water falling against her naked skin had always been an interesting sensation for her. It felt like a different sort of rain, a rain sent from a different heaven. Liquid lavender soap turned to fragrant suds, washing over her body. The perfect shower, she thought to herself. Just one thing missing . . . she turned off the water before she even got to washing her hair. Whatever happened, she didn't wanna think that way.  
  
That kind of thinking got her in trouble.  
  
Drying off and redressing, she decided that she wouldn't bother him anymore.  
  
"He isn't worth my time, anyway. I could have way better than him."  
  
And somehow, deep down, even she knew it was a lie. 


	2. Guilty Innocence

Ditto for beginning of chappie one. Don't own anything from Bebop except my own original characters.  
  
A/N: ATTENTION! I am very serious about the censor I put on this story. From this chapter on, there are going to be some rather racy and inappropriate themes in this story, and if you are not thirteen, please do not read this anymore.  
  
Silk on Steel  
Chapter Two: Guilty Innocence  
  
The clock said 19:46, and the pasta was finally done. Hurriedly, she scooped a bit of it onto a plate for him and a larger amount for herself. She hoped he'd like it more than the sandwich.  
  
Sardines, sauerkraut, mustard, onion, and Swiss cheese on rye, pickle on the side. Disgusting, yes, but it was his favorite, so she'd swallowed her pride and her stomach. His favorite lunch, and somehow, he'd only got to half of it. That was a pretty bad sign. A "Spiegel Rueben," as he called it, usually didn't last five minutes in front of him.  
  
She knocked on the door with her foot and called out to him. When he didn't answer, she peeped through the jarred door.  
  
He was lying, shoeless, on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The television blared some sort of sports scores. It was obvious he wasn't even listening. His eyes were half closed, half open, staring at the ceiling, and in her mind, it was the saddest thing she'd ever seen in her entire life. One thin stream of tears ran its way down her face.  
  
She found herself inside the room somehow, creeping her way up to him on bare feet, so quiet she could hear the sound of him breathing, inhalation and exhalation. It was beautiful, the sound of his breathing. Just like the sigh of the sea winds on her home, Io, one of the many moons of Jupiter. When she was a little girl, going to the shore was a treat, so she learned how to savor every last moment, absorbing every sensation that was available, and the waves and wind had always soothed her. Ever since she'd met him, Faye had noticed how very meditative his breathing was.  
  
Just a few feet away from him, and he was still off in his own world. He either didn't see her or didn't care to acknowledge her presence.  
  
Suddenly, she somehow found herself climbing up on the bed, snuggling in next to him. That got his attention at last. His sharp, dark eyes flicked toward her, glowering at her angrily, but he still said nothing.  
  
"How can you do this?" she whispered under her breath, her tears running onto the pillow now. "Do you want me to die?"  
  
For a long time, they lay there, him staring at her with those mix- matched eyes so strangely. Finally, he said ten words in a row, more than he had in days.  
  
"We are born . . . we die. Everyone dies someday. No fault."  
  
"But why must you die?" she cried. "Why?"  
  
"Everybody's gonna die someday. Maybe it's just my time now."  
"Not today. Not now. You're so young."  
  
Long, long pause.  
  
"I'm . . . sorry, Faye. I don't want you to die."  
  
"How in God's name could you expect me to?"  
  
Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around her. "Because you're not me."  
  
For just a split second, Faye felt a shiver run down her back.  
  
"No way," she thought to herself, "Get it together, Faye."  
  
But deep down, she knew she was trying to fool herself.  
  
"What will make you well again?"  
  
"I'm heartsick. That usually doesn't go away very quickly. I got myself in a fix I couldn't get outta. And now I don't know what I'm gonna do."  
  
"Spike. . . I love you. . ." she heard herself cry. Suddenly, she found herself locking her lips onto his. She knew he was surprised, but he didn't pull away. He didn't want to pull away. She could feel his arms rolling down around her waist.  
  
"What are you trying to do?" she muttered.  
  
"Getting what I want," he whispered.  
  
On instinct, she began to undo the buttons of her yellow silk shirt.  
  
"What are you doing?" he muttered through another passionate kiss.  
  
"Giving you what you want."  
  
"How do you know what I want?"  
  
"I can guess," she started to undo the buttons on his shirt now.  
  
"Ahhh. . ." he let out a long, feral sort of sigh. ".What do I want?"  
  
"Me, of course," the last few buttons came all at once, baring his full, bare torso.  
  
"You!" he suddenly rolled over, looming over her now, all his hair standing on end and a sparkle in his right eye, his breath fast. "Of course I want you. . ."The whisper reminded her so of the wind . . . With a start, she realized his hands were about her skirt. By instinct, her hands drifted their way down his muscular form, her skilled fingers at his fly. She felt the skirt and underwear drift away from her body like a silky, white cloud, her own palms slowly easing down, down, away from his waist. . . That first sudden, almighty jarring from beneath her waist . . . Looking up, she saw the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, his shuddering torso beginning to move as his lower body starting to ripple with the rhythm . . . And then always that slightly belated realization that he was inside her body now, that for this second they were no longer two beings, two people; that they were now but one body, connected in this moment. In that half-dreaming half- consciousness, she was aware of him as a whole. For just a split second, she could almost feel that she was one with him; that she knew all his thoughts, his feelings, his dreams, his memories . . . the innermost workings of the very core of his being.  
  
"No denying now," she thought to herself, finally giving up, submitting to her instincts. "There's no use now. . ."  
  
* * *  
Waking from her exhausted slumber, the lullaby of his breath just inches from her, the feeling of his warm body pressed against hers. He was so beautiful, just so innocent looking when he was asleep. One of his arms was wrapped around her waist in a protective pose. He was just at such peace, at harmony with nature.  
  
But she also knew about the nightmares that were probably still racing around in his head right about now. Those images of that horrible day. . . it would be far too hard for her to bear, and she was glad it wasn't her.  
  
"I love you. . ." she whispered to him. "Oh, how I love you. . ."  
  
No answer but that of his slow, steady breath. . . inhalation. . . exhalation. . . inhalation. . .exhalation. . . she could listen to that sound for the rest of her life and still never get tired.  
  
Slowly, as contented sleep began to overtake her once again, the memories in her head began to drift around and merge with her dreams. . .  
  
How tragic it had been, back then. . . 


	3. Broken Dreamer

Ditto on disclaimers of chapters one and two.  
  
ATTENTION!!! More angst, some very heavy violence in this chapter. I take my censor very, very, very seriously. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT 13!!!  
  
Silk on Steel  
Three: Broken Dreamer  
  
* * *  
Sometimes it seemed memories had not existed before fifteen years of age. She didn't remember much about the times before. She remembered that they would move a lot, and that the places they lived were always temporary "just for the time being" sorts of places. Her mother was a pretty woman, but the men she dated couldn't see her prettiness, only her figure. For some reason or another, she'd never known her father at all. They'd never had very much, and that made it that much easier to move. And one thing that had always seemed odd was that her mother and she never talked much. By the time Faye was thirteen, she'd gotten used to moving a lot. She'd gotten used to buying clothes at thrift stores, gotten used to spending nights alone, gotten used to enduring the derisive comments that seemed to follow her city after city, school after school, gotten used to the small piles of mysterious powder she would find in her mother's room. A couple times, they had stayed in shelters, but never for very long.  
  
It was always on to another place, never staying anywhere for long; two rolling stones never gathering any moss.  
  
But one thing she remembered the best was that one day.  
  
They were on the move again; she'd learned not to ask where, the answer always being "I'm not sure." She was fifteen years old, and she was feeling drowsy. She'd been in the car for nearly four hours now, and it was a cool day, the kind that comes right between winter and spring, and the sort that made you want to curl up and sleep.  
  
When they finally got into a town about midday, they stopped in front of an ice cream shop.  
  
"What are we doing here?" she asked her mom, waking up from the nap.  
  
"I thought we deserved a treat," she answered with a little hesitation.  
  
Faye was a little surprised, but she didn't hesitate to order her favorite flavor, Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, double scoop with a cherry. She lapped happily at it as they wandered down the street.  
  
"Would you like to see a show?" her mother asked when they passed a movie theatre.  
  
She couldn't believe her ears. First, ice creams, and now, a movie? Faye gave her mother a questioning look, but her mother only smiled in return. With a little uneasy smile, she took the ticket the movie person and they filed into the dark coolness of the inside of the theatre.  
  
It was a comedy; one of those stupid comedies that don't make sense at all, but for some reason, you laugh at the dumb jokes anyways. But all the time she was trying to laugh and simultaneously keep her ice cream from melting, she couldn't help but wonder why the nice treatment all of a sudden. Even her mom knew they couldn't afford it.  
  
But she kept it out of her mind.  
  
Once they got out of the theatre, they kept walking down the streets, and it seemed to Faye that they were pretty far from the car now.  
  
"Mom?" she said finally as they were passing yet another park. "Where . . . exactly . . . are we going?"  
  
"I . . . I have to do something," she said hesitantly. "And I thought . . . you know . . . you could wait here."  
  
"Why can't I come with you?" Faye asked suspiciously.  
  
"Oh, you'd be bored," her mom tried to convince her.  
  
"I'd still rather come with you."  
  
"What are you so worried about?" she asked, helping Faye get settled on a park bench. "I'll only be gone for an hour or so."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Of course I'm sure," her mom hugged her before she left. For some reason or another, the hug seemed to last a little longer than usual, like her mom didn't want to let go of her. "You're my baby."  
  
Then, without a word, her mother wrenched herself away, and before Faye knew it, she was gone, down the street.  
  
Afternoon turned into evening and evening turned into twilight, and still no sign of her. It was starting to get a cold. Not like she was worried or anything. Her mom could have gotten held up by something or maybe she was having trouble with directions. She had a history of the world's worst sense of direction.  
  
Twilight slowly turned to nightfall, still no sign. Where was she? Things were starting to get a little bit frightening. From experience, Faye knew that parks were often the haunts of gang members and street dealers. But, like some fundamentalist religious leader, she curled up on the park bench and waited.  
  
Midnight. Nothing. This could not be normal. Something was wrong. Very wrong.  
Daybreak. That little sliver of sun poking out under the predawn. A grave thought occurred to her that she had never dared to dream in her whole entire life.  
  
Her mother wasn't coming back. She had never intended to. She'd just abandoned her.  
  
With a heavy heart and an empty stomach, Faye slowly got her feet and walked away from that park bench forever.  
  
Looking back, the next few weeks were blurry and undefined in her mind. All she could remember is wandering; wandering endlessly, always searching in soup kitchens and garbage cans for her food and finding cardboard boxes to sleep in when it got cold. Her clothes got dirty and ragged and her hair started to get gnarly and tangled, but she couldn't think about any of that. She hardly ever had water to drink, none the less bathe with. During the night, she could remember fighting other street kids for the scraps of food from the dumpsters.  
  
For the first time in her life, Faye didn't care about living.  
  
But of course, that only lasted so long.  
  
It was a dark night, and she'd just gotten back from the usual fight. This time, it had been Italian; or, in fact, their garbage cans. A dishwasher had spotted her and come out brandishing a broom menacingly, but he didn't follow her for long; only a minute or so. She'd been so concentrated on getting away she wasn't able to stop herself from slamming head on into a pedestrian.  
  
"Hey, watch where ya goin', ya son of a bi-" her sentence caught in her throat halfway. The man she was looking up at was wearing a long, black trench coat and an angry scowl. But most of all he looked like he had power, and that could only mean one thing: full o' cash. And in this part of town, cash meant crime, so she wanted to get away as soon as possible. In two seconds, she was back on her feet, making for the other side of the street. . .  
  
But he caught the hood of her sweatshirt.  
  
"Hey!" he shouted as she tried to scream but couldn't as his other hand was covering her mouth. "Hey, c'mon . . . I'm not going to hurt you!"  
  
For a couple seconds, she continued to struggle, and then felt a sharp prick on the back of her neck. With a start she realized what it was. It was a syringe; a syringe full of sedatives, no doubt. She struggled and struggled, trying to beat her way free, but he was too strong for her. In her mind, she could feel herself getting slowly more and more drowsy, and deep down, she knew he wouldn't be able to fight against it. Still, her lungs cried to scream and her muscles tried to resist, but it was no use, she was dropping farther and farther down . . . down . . . down. . .  
  
To this day, she had know idea how many hours or perhaps even days passed, but when she awoke, the sky outside was dark. She was in a strange room lying on a strange bed where she had been asleep, and her clothes were gone, replaced by what felt like some sort of evening gown. Her skin felt fresh, as if she'd been washed. She couldn't tell if she were alone or not, but by instinct, she stayed quiet.  
  
"You're such a lovely girl," a voice came from the door. "It's a shame to see you so afraid."  
  
The silhouette of a tall, thin man was standing in the doorway. She gasped.  
  
"You know, you cost me quite a bit, dearie."  
  
She didn't respond. She wanted to run, but her legs didn't want to run, and even if she could, there was nowhere to go.  
  
"I'm sorry," the stranger continued, "I must be confusing you. Let me explain. That sedative of yours . . . let's just say my clients were quite upset with me. Nearly got my neck for it. But it was all worthwhile . . . wasn't it?"  
  
"What . . . what do you mean?" she asked, terrified.  
  
"Oh, you know . . . I mean, you are a very beautiful girl. Stupendous body. It was quite enjoyable . . . you really were made to wear designer, you know? But everyone knows," he began to approach the bed, his voice getting more and more dangerous, "that there's no use in it until they're awake."  
  
"Please! . . ." she yelped. "Please . . . please don't do this!"  
  
"Now am I to believe you am being ungrateful?" he was now climbing onto the bed and over her body. "Believe me, dearest. . . I hate ungraciousness!!!" His hands dove under her dress. "But you know what? I don't care about what you have to say, missy!"  
  
"No! No, don't! Please!" she tried to fight, but he forced her legs apart. "Don't! Please don't! I'll do anything, anything!"  
  
"Darling, I think it's just a little too late for that!"  
  
And she knew nothing more until she woke the next morning.  
  
When she had found herself awake in the sunlight lying in a torn sparkly blue evening gown next to the naked pervert who had raped her, she spent very little time feeling sad. For some reason or another, she did not feel guilty at all. She looked down at the creature before her and disgusted him. He was out like a light. Maybe he'd O.D.'d. For the first time in her life, she realized that she actually wished someone else dead. Cautiously, she crept out of bed, and quietly, as not to wake him, crept out of the room.  
  
First of all, she found the bathroom and took a shower. The foamy soap seemed to take away the disgusting feeling that she imagined all over her skin. However, she couldn't so easily forget the ugliness that was inside her. But, at least for the time being, she knew she would have to ignore it.  
  
After the shower, she dried herself with a white fluffy towel, and then tied it around her waist as she went in search of some clothes. The dress was ripped, and the clothes she'd had had been ruined for weeks. For a while, she sat on the bathroom floor and wondered what to do about clothes, until broke upon the idea to look in the pervert's closet.  
  
'Pervert' was too light of word for this guy, she soon learned. Apart from normal clothes, there were also several girl's outfits stashed in the back of his armoire, including underwear, bras, lingerie, and shoes. It disgusted her to imagine how many teenage girls he must have done this to before. She found a pair of underwear that was a little loose, but would have to do. One pair of jeans seemed to fit her pretty well, and one of the other girls must have been a c-cup as well. A silky black t-shirt with some unknown band on the front struck her fancy, and one pair of black sandals fit nicely. With one quick look in the mirror, she ran a brush through her hair a few times until she felt satisfied with her appearance.  
  
Her mind began to turn to thoughts of money. Of course, she was going to run away, but where was she going to get any money? She started looking around the room.  
  
"Jesus Christ," she said aloud, talking to herself. "Pervert got so much shitload of money and can't find a cent of it."  
  
Where was it? She suddenly thought of something. Where did people hide things when they don't want anyone to find them?  
  
There was only one answer, under the bed.  
  
She found a large steel box behind a portrait of a naked woman, in between a couple of shoeboxes. With careful hands, she opened the lid. Inside, an amazing amount of sparkling gems and valuables of all sorts were glistening in the light of the sunrise. Hurriedly, she started to fill her pockets with them. Everything you could possibly imagine was here; gold coins, rings, diamond watches, giant emeralds, long strings of pearls, pendants of strange and interesting stones.on and on. She filled all her pockets until her jeans were starting to slide down her waist. There was almost nothing left in the box now, but she didn't care. He probably had all kinds of money, and she didn't have any pity for him anyway.  
  
He still wasn't awake. Maybe dead. She didn't care. Without even one look back, she made her way out of that penthouse apartment and walked away forever.  
  
* * *  
From that day forward, Faye's perception of love, and indeed, sex, had been completely changed.  
  
Of all the many men she had had relations with throughout her life; there had always been one element in all of them. In every single one, she had been involved in a sexual relation for one reason and one reason only; to get closer to power. Whether he'd been a gambling boss or a politician, she was always in it for her own gain. And now looking back, she realized something that she had never let herself know before.  
  
Never, in her whole entire life, had she ever loved a man at all. Not even one bit. That was, until now. Until, just by accident, she had run out of gas one day while in orbit around Mars, and just dropped into his life, his life, this man, this space cowboy. And now, for the very first time in her life, Faye looked at the sleeping body beside her, and knew what she'd said was true.she loved him. She loved him. He meant more to her than anything. That's why she'd been so afraid. Afraid of his love. Afraid that he wouldn't love her back. Maybe afraid that he would. Afraid of her fears.and afraid of him, so deadly afraid.  
  
Spike stirred slightly. His hand slid softly from her waist to her hip, his throat sighing softly. The pleasant sweep of his calm, hypnotic breath brushed through her hair.  
  
"Hey," he sighed.  
  
"Hey," she answered  
  
Silence. Absolutely amazing, blissful silence.  
  
"I had a nightmare."  
  
"Yeah. Me too."  
  
More silence.  
  
"Sing to me . . . one more time." The phrase seemed to come out of all illogic, and yet seemed so right. So she did. It was a song she'd never, ever heard before. But somewhere, she knew the words, she knew the tune, and for the first time, she knew just why.  
  
"If I had the chance  
I'd whisk us away  
Leave this deadly dance  
On this dark holiday.  
If I had the power  
We would run so far  
Watch the glorious flower  
In this bed of stars  
If we were the gods  
We should know no pain  
Sail this sea abroad  
In the starlight rain  
And our love would last  
For the rest of time  
The future and past  
Immortal in this rhyme.  
But for just tonight  
Let me spend with you  
In this gray twilight  
We made perfect for two  
Our time is brief  
So we must take care  
Let our love relieve  
All that we can't bear  
You can have my heart  
If you ask it me  
In this flowery art  
Nothing comes for free  
Since our mortal lives  
Swing in the balance  
We'll just stay alive  
In this darkened romance  
So take up my hand  
Let your fears aside  
In this dark wasteland  
With a love so divine  
With a love so divine  
With a love so divine. . .  
  
He was asleep, his rhythmic breath sighing on her neck. With a small, silent smile of pure pleasure, she nestled her head in his bushy, tussled green hair, the sweet smell of her beloved overcoming her senses as her eyes became heavier and heavier. She slowly felt herself fall deeper and deeper into the warmth and finally into the sweet abyss. 


	4. Light's Farewell

Ditto on the disclaimers of chapter one, chapter two, and chapter three.  
  
ATTENTION: If you haven't already gotten this message by some strange, strange turn of events, this fic contains some rather inappropriate themes. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT 13!!!!  
  
Silk on Steel  
Four: Light's Farewell  
  
The first thing she noticed was the feeling of a slight chill. Without really opening her eyes, she reached to find him, to put her arms around him . . . but she felt nothing. No sea tide breathing. Nothing. With a sudden bite of panic, she started to feel around more desperately. But she couldn't find him. For one terrible, terrible second, she let herself imagine that he was gone. In her panic, she opened one eye and all her fears were quelled once again.  
  
Looking out into the great expanse of starlight through the curved round window, transfixed by the mere paradox of significance in the universe. There he was, bare to the waist, his back to her, sitting still as a statue and silent as a cat, his eyes mesmerized by the vast pure luminousness of it. For a moment, she didn't make a sound, but just watched him with his glassy-eyed trance like observing a monk in the deepest of meditations. His breath . . . it was no longer the waves. It was the sound the wind makes when blowing in and out of a cave, its eerie sighs howling in and out. For what seemed like forever, the silence filled the room, seeping into her heart and mind, easing all her fears, and suddenly, her voice split it open.  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Hey," he answered, his voice low and drawling, as if he were asleep.  
  
More silence.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"Just thinking."  
  
An even longer pause.  
  
"What about?"  
  
"Faye. . ." he seemed to be having trouble talking, "Faye. . . I have to leave."  
  
"Leave?" she suddenly found herself crawling out of bed and dressing herself hurriedly. "What do you mean, 'Leave'?"  
  
"Faye . . . I don't think you understand," he said slowly. "There's . . . there's just something I have to do."  
  
"What are you talking about?" she finished dressing and hurried up beside him. "You're not going anywhere as long as I'm-"  
  
Her voice caught in her throat, the sentence drifting off into nowhere. She saw what he'd been watching. . . Mars. His home planet. The place he'd grown up. The setting of the whole dark, tragic story. Where Vicious was now, still hiding in the same shadows he worshipped. Where he had lost the love of his life, the sunlight in his eyes. This place that had been the bane of his existence and yet, the place he was always been drawn back to. His past lay there, buried under the surface of his eyes, hid so far that she wondered if even he knew where it was. A few tears slipped down the side of her cheek.  
  
"No," she cried meekly, the tears creeping into her voice. "No.please, no, you can't."  
  
"I have to," he sighed. "I don't have a choice anymore."  
  
"Yes you do!" she shouted. "You moron! You finally found a little something for yourself and now you're just going throw it all away again! What kind of life is that?!? Huh?!?"  
  
"You don't understand," his eyes turned away from her, still staring out at the wide expanse of stars. "This isn't about her. I just can't let him go on like that. Don't you get it?" One long sigh that seemed to last forever. "I couldn't live anymore. Not really. Not a real life. I'd always be just waiting, fearing he'd come back for me. Can't you see? I gotta get him. It's my only hope. He can't just get away. I can't let him."  
  
The stream of tears had become a river. It wasn't fair. Why did he have to? Why couldn't he see that he was leading himself to his death? Did he want to die? Did he not see that he could get out if he just forgot his foolish pride and started thinking about someone other than himself?  
  
"Why?" she cried again. "Oh, why?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Faye. But I just can't stay here a minute longer," he slowly got up from his perch and got up, buttoning up a clean shirt from his dresser.  
  
"What is your problem?!?" she suddenly threw herself into a rage. "Have you gone insane?!? You're staying right here, mister!"  
  
"I hope you understand," he started loading his pistols, answering like he hadn't heard her at all. "You'll understand someday."  
  
Faye was so angry and sad and a million emotions at a time she couldn't even answer.  
  
"I'll be back," he sighed unhappily. "I promise you, Faye. . . I'll be back soon."  
  
"You don't know that," she cried, her eyes draining like waterfalls. "Don't you understand? You're leading yourself right into his hands. Can't you see? You're killing yourself!!!"  
  
"That's a risk I have to take," he tried to explain, shutting the barrels skillfully one-handed. "I've taken it before, and I can do it again. I don't wanna, Faye. But you don't seem to understand . . . as long as he's still out there, there won't be a life for me. Not anywhere. And if I die tomorrow, at least it will have been on my terms . . . not on his."  
  
She tried to speak, but no sound came out. Her emotions were in a whirlwind. Anger, sorrow, love, fear, pain, confusion . . . it was so hopelessly entangled, she couldn't even begin to try and decipher it. Faye stood staring at him, her mouth hanging agape. It was like her body was being pulled in a million different directions. She wanted to cry and yell and throw herself at his feet and smack him and break down and run away and beg and kiss him and make love to him and hurl and faint and self destruct and just flat out die all at the very same instant. But her body was frozen in place, tears streaming in great globs down her face. No words came, only one loud, long, lonely cry of pure agony as she fell to the floor, pounding it as hard as she could with her fists.  
  
A touch. She suddenly straightened up, opening her tear-blinded eyes. His face was so close to her, the cool touch of his breath playing at wretched hair. He was kneeling next to her, his eyes right in hers. And for just one minute, she couldn't help but get lost in them. Those eyes . . . those two mismatched marbles . . . it was just like him. So much of the time, he was the metal, the cold, tough bounty hunter, veiling his emotions under a multicolor shield of ersatz apathy, iciness, invulnerability and seeming invincibility. But then there were times like this past week when it was the other way. When he was a real human, made of flesh and bone, not steel, and just like anyone else, able to be broken, able to bleed. When he wasn't an icicle of unfeeling, but had real emotions, beautiful ones, ones that could either hurt or heal. When he wasn't just an anonymous face in the crowd that could be treated with a passing glance, but a person with a story, a past, something he was trying to tell the world so desperately you could almost smell it. Two different eyes, two different Spikes . . . they were the Yin and the Yang, two parts of the whole, two sides of the coin, one never complete without his brother.  
  
Sometimes it seemed as though that was Vicious and Spike . . . two former best friends, two sons of the red planet, two criminals, two anguished men, two brothers that would face each other in a battle to the death . . .  
  
One woman . . .: Julia . . . the woman in black and white . . .  
  
But that was the past. And now he was going to finish it.  
  
"You . . . you're the only one," he whispered so softly into her ear, almost as if he could read her mind.  
  
"Come back to me," she whispered back.  
  
"I'll always come back . . . for you."  
  
A kiss; a kiss on the floor of his room on the Bebop, the two of them on their knees, both wrapped, entwined, clenched desperately in the other's arms, as if they would float away if they ever let go. For a second Faye held her breath. It was true.  
  
This was her dream . . . this was the kiss she had dreamed of for so long.  
  
Like a thunderclap, his lips pulled away from hers at last. One last moment, he knelt at her side, one hand wrapped lovingly around her waist, the other brushing affectionately at her hair. A single tear ran from his right eye down his cheek, then a slow stream beginning, the left eye staring blank and oblivious. But she knew. She knew both the Spikes now.  
  
He got to his feet and walked slowly from the room. Faye did not stir from her place on the floor. She didn't move when she heard him going down the hall. She didn't move when she heard him going down the stairs. She didn't move when she heard the roar of the engines awakening. She didn't move when she heard the bay doors open. She didn't move when she heard the almighty blast of sound as he took off towards his home.  
  
She didn't move when she heard the silence long after the bay doors closed themselves.  
  
For nearly ten minutes after it was obvious he was gone, Faye clutched to that tiny spot of floor in his bedroom with almost religious zeal, so afraid that she might wake to find it was a dream and at the very same time wishing with all her heart it was a dream. And then, as if an alarm had gone off in her head, she suddenly rose and left the room, closing the door smartly behind her. He was gone. There was nothing she could do about it now. Better to just forget it.  
  
"He promised me," she thought to herself. "He promised he'd come back."  
  
She found herself in the bathroom, stripping off her clothes and stepping into the shower, the warm water splashing against her nude body. She would wash the pain away. Everything washed away with water. Even the worst kind of pain.  
  
For several minutes, she basked in that balmy warmth, trying to forget this incredible coldness that had seeped into her chest. But no matter how warm the water was, it could not melt the ice. She turned the shower off and toweled herself dry, walking slowly back to her room, the white towel tied around her. Folded neatly in her drawers, she found a change of clothes, and changed into them without even looking at herself in the mirror once. Everything in her wardrobe matched anyway. Her wet hair soaked her pillow as she collapsed on the bed, staring at the ceiling. It didn't matter anymore. She didn't want to do anything but lay here.  
  
And it was several minutes before she realized what was so familiar about the situation.  
  
That's just how Spike was for six whole days. 


	5. Ballad of Two Angels

Disclaimer: Ditto on chapter one, chapter two, chapter three and chapter four.  
  
A/N: . . . y'know what, I shouldn't even say it anymore. This is ridiculous. If you haven't got the message yet, there is no hope. Just read.  
  
Silk on Steel  
Five: Ballad of Two Angels  
  
The rain fell in torrents all around him. The street below was completely deserted. He peered down from the roof of the building, but he was unsure. Vision compromised; not a good sign. Mars was notorious for its rains. It wasn't like he wasn't used to it. He'd lived on Mars all of his boyhood. That was, before Vicious and the syndicate.  
  
He was around here, right around here somewhere, lurking in the shadows. Nobody in sight, but he was here, alright. His scent, his signature aura was here; on the pavement, the air, these buildings, all here. God, he was probably looking at him right now, and here he was, completely unaware. Vicious had a way of hiding himself that Spike had never been able to learn; a way of being discreet and at the same time cut a definite figure wherever he was. That was one of the first things he'd noticed about Vicious, back when they met the first time.  
  
Back when they were just a couple of rebellious sixteen-year-olds, not caring about anything but sex, rock and roll, and maybe the secrets of the universe. Spike could almost remember all those nights and days, fighting on Atari to best each others' scores and shoplifting Playboys from the newspaper stands, playing guitar way too loud in the garage and watching the stars way late into the night philosophizing without any cares.  
  
Those were the days . . . but those days led to other ones. Darker days; days of crime, drugs, violence in the Syndicate. Perfect picture of living hedonism; that's what he'd been. Organized crime . . . what a deal. He had to admit it; back then, they made a lot of money. Bounty hunting didn't even compare. To be really honest, he probably would have stayed with it.  
  
That is, if it hadn't been for one woman . . .  
  
He'd known him for so long now, known him in so many lights, he could sense his presence. Vicious was here, alright. Just biding his time, waiting for a moment to fall down on him in a lightfast hammer of death.  
  
"But I'm not going out that way," Spike whispered under his breath.  
  
With a roving eye, he mapped the street below. Still no sign, and yet he was here. He was not wrong. Somewhere . . . somewhere in the shadows . . . waiting for his kill . . .  
  
"Coward," he called into the night.  
  
The image came just a millisecond before it happened. A view . . . looking down at himself, a view, almost right behind, but higher up . . . a white haired man with silver eyes, dressed in black, a katana in hand . . . too late. Soundless as a feather, he fell like a crash, right square on top of him . . . he'd jumped. A pain so incredible, it filled all his being. Spike looked down to see his blood pouring out of him, ebbing like a wave from his side, mixing with the rain.  
  
"Is that a fact, Spiegel?" A voice whispered in his ear. With a zap of surprise, he was jolted back to reality. Still on his back . . . mustering all the strength he could manage, he threw him off. With the balance of a dark cat, Vicious bounced back to his feet, the soles of his shoes dancing across the surface of the roof, stopping just a foot short of the edge.  
  
"Thought I'd slip, did you?" the voice came again, taking a few safety steps backwards. "Clever idea, I must admit it. But not clever enough."  
  
Spike couldn't answer; he was clutching his side, trying to slow the bleeding. This was it. He'd only get one chance at it. While his back was still turned . . . BANG! He fired. BANG! Another, and still he stood, still as a stone, as if he hadn't even heard them at all.  
  
"You won't be able to shoot straight with that arm anymore. Try the other. If I remember correctly, you're ambidextrous, am I right?"  
  
A low, involuntary growl emanated from the depths of his diaphragm. He was teasing now, heckling him, making the most of his first advantage and then this fake sympathy. It was sick; sadistic, even. It was only meant to make him lose hope. These were not his terms. Not by a long shot. With a flick of his finger, he switched hands and hammered off another round, now aiming at his feet. Let's see how witty he is when he can't jump.  
  
The grace of a bird . . . a dragon, in fact. Skipped less than a centimeter out of the way, but missed all the same. Fuck. Three left, one in the shaft, he told himself. I've done it with that before. After that, ten seconds to bang in a new one, at least . . .  
  
"Just like old times, eh, Spiegel?" the hissing voice interrupted his thoughts. He was facing Spike now. "You always were a sneak."  
  
"Shut the fuck up," Spike managed to wheeze. "Quit jumpin' an' fight like a man."  
  
"Chivalry?" With a sudden burst of speed, somehow taking two shots squarely and not a single hesitation, the katana blade bit into his flesh again; this time, the solar plexus, with Vicious looming over him, the eyes Death himself. "I'm touched."  
  
Pain, unimaginable pain, pain that couldn't be real, even in a nightmare. For a second, he fell over backwards in shock and then tried to right himself, but Vicious took advantage of the momentary lapse of balance, bearing down even further, until his knees gave away under the stroke.  
  
It wasn't like he'd felt pain like this before. This sort of pain . . . it was not solely physical. This friend, this enemy, this one who had brought him more grief than even the bloody blade of Fate . . . it couldn't happen this way.  
  
"Hurts? I can only imagine, Spiegel." He jarred the katana's blade in his flesh, cruelty without a single tear from his great apathetic, silver eyes. For just a second or so, as he aimed, this one his very last chance, he thought that from this angle, they almost looked white; eerily white, the clear, clear pupils isolated on the pure snowy glass.  
  
One last chance . . . one last chance . . . for Faye . . .  
  
BANG! How could it be possible? How could he miss POINTE BLANK? And then he realized . . . the katana . . . it was so thin, he hadn't even seen it . . . it broke on the katana. Such irony . . . everybody knew that guns were better than swords anyway . . . and yet this. The last chance, and now he'd lost it.  
  
But it wasn't all for loss.  
  
He hadn't even heard him scream. That is, if he had screamed at all. His right eye, shut closed as closed, coating in rich blackness . . . shrapnel. Irony . . . his pale face contorted in lividness, the thin, colorless lips pressed tight against his clenched teeth.  
  
"Fine," a low, inhuman growl emitted from his throat, still bearing down with all his strength. "You wanna be cute? I can do that too. Watch me milk your life, Spiegel."  
  
Had he said unimaginable pain before? He'd been wrong. That was cheesecake compared to this. Vicious was leaning far down now, his wild, livid eye not a foot from his own, the sickly white skin tightened in fury. The fierce metal mutilated the skin as to cause the most amount of pain possible. In that one wild gleaming eye, he saw Dante's Hell, saw all the way to the lowest level, Judecca . . . the ever-freezing . . .  
  
This was the end. Faye . . . he'd lied to her. He'd promised he'd come back. He'd promised he'd go out his way. But this wasn't his way. His way was man to man, not drooling to death on a rainy rooftop. He'd promised himself he'd let Julia die in peace and move on with life, a life with Faye . . . all daydreams, forgotten musings gone with the warm air. And here he was, roundless, all six of them gone, all chambers empty . . . a sudden alarm went off in his head. Six . . . and one in the shaft! . . .  
  
His head splitting with pain, being careful not to bring attention to the newfound discovery, he slowly crept his hand to where his gun was lying beside him. His shot was perfect now, no stupid katana in the way, so easy . . . he couldn't mess this up. If he was gonna die on this stupid rooftop in the rain, god dammit, he'd be taking him with him!  
  
Somehow, besides having only one eye and being blinded by boundless rage, Vicious caught sight of this last endeavor.  
  
"Ahh," again, that inhuman hiss. "The final delusion, my friend . . . hope. Hope, even where there is none. Despite all reality, your foolish, unending desire to leave differently, to go out with a-"  
  
BANG!  
  
The silver eye screamed, the tiny pupil only a small, faded memory of its former brimstone self. The roaming white spaces were no longer plated with hellfire. Now they were wide gaping holes, holes that had been to insanity and back. Trembling, the tiny pupil reached across his body, passed over him completely, and looked at the blood soaked black, a small patch of red seeping through the chest, small as a dime. Vicious had never looked so frightening and yet so pitiful in all of his life. The right eye was shut closed, still vomiting fresh, sticky flesh every second or so. The other was wide with awe and disbelief and absolute insanity. His whole body was shaking now.  
  
"But . . . but . . ." a hiss still, but a diminished one. One that was uttered in desperation. "But . . . how can it be? It . . . it can't be . . . six . . . SIX . . ."  
  
"Six," Spike finished for him, a last smug wheeze, ". . . and one in the shaft!"  
  
For a second, there was silence. A second that took hours on end.  
  
Then a peculiar sound fell upon his dying ears. Spike's ears perked. Was he hearing things? No . . . there it was again. Something between a short cough and a song. He'd never heard anything like it. And he suddenly noticed . . .  
  
It wasn't a song or a cough. It was Vicious . . . laughing. A weak little laugh, but shrill, whispery. And there was a certain quality to the way his one eye shined as the rapidity increased, that made everything . . . terrifying.  
  
"What's so funny?" Spike asked in half-frightened amazement.  
  
With that, it grew slowly louder . . . louder, louder until it rebounded across the entire street.  
  
"WHAT IS IT?" he yelled.  
  
"Aheh . . . heh . . ." it at last grew to a stop. The bright silver eye refocused, its black pupil on him like crosshairs. At last, after what seemed like forever, he began to speak in a way Spike he had never heard before.  
  
"'Per me si va na la citta dolente, per me si va ne l'etterno doloro, per me si va tra la perduta gente . . . Lasciate ogne speransa voi ch'intrate'. . ." (1)  
  
"Dante," Spike muttered quietly. "Canto three."  
  
"Yessss . . ." the hiss waned out his throat. The silver eye rolled in its socket, showing the milky underside. Spike watched as the great black body, washed with bits of pallid skins, weakened, slacked and slid to the ground. Spike listened as the breath cut off dramatically. Vicious Reddragon would breathe no more.  
  
And very soon, neither would he . . .  
  
"Lo duca e io per quel cammino ascoso . . . ," he muttered to himself, laughing under his breath. ". . . intrammo a ritornar nel chiaro mondo; e sanza cura aver d'alcun riposo . . . E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle." (2)  
  
Nothing more to say. It was complete. . . all getting very dark and warm . . . peaceful . . . he closed his eyes. After all that, he deserved a rest. . .  
  
A long, long, rest . . .  
  
It didn't hurt when it happened. But it was cold, and at the very same, time comfortably warm. In that last second of consciousness, Spike made a decision.  
  
"Goodbye," he said to a dead Julia. But his speech wasn't finished  
  
"Goodnight, Faye," he blew her a kiss. So tired. . .  
  
And all was quiet.  
  
The rain fell and fell. Two puddles of red water joined around the two bodies, lying side by side. Those puddles slowly began to join into one. One womb, one bloody cradle, two brothers, two twins, two that shared this same lasting destiny. Two that whose love would break into hatred, and in the end, all salvation would be achieved.  
  
And from above, the rain fell and fell. The night sang its quiet song of late-passing cars, night owls. From somewhere in that metal jungle, there came the sound of a baby crying for his mother's milk. Everything normal, average beauty; all at peace. All over, Mars slept . . . unaware that two of her ill-fated sons lay in endless sleep. . .  
  
~~~~~  
  
Dante Alighieri "Inferno" Canto III, lines 1-3 and 9  
  
Translated approx. (from Latin): "'Through me the way to the city of  
desolation, Through me the way to everlasting pain, Through me the way to  
souls in abomination. . . . All who enter, let no hope survive.'"  
  
Dante Alighieri "Inferno" Canto XXXIV, lines 133-135 and 139 (the last line in the work)  
Translated approx. (from Latin): "We entered on that hidden road to find  
our way once more into the world of light. My leader walked ahead and I  
behind, . . . From there we came outside and saw the stars."  
  
Translation by Michael Palma  
  
~~~~~  
  
P.S. Elflord: This fic ain't over til I say it's over, and it AIN'T  
over!!! 


	6. Tinted Mirrors

Disclaimer: Dittos on disclaimers chapter one, two, three, four and five.  
  
Silk on Steel  
Six: Tinted Mirrors  
  
Faye was still clinging to her room, curled on the bed, when the sound of the bay doors clanged open far across the Bebop. She had not strayed far from it since yesterday . . . yesterday, when he went away like that. She didn't move when she heard a quite obviously crabby Jet dragging a squealing Ed into the Bebop. She didn't move when they came closer. Jet didn't seem to be aware of the current absence on the ship.  
  
"Three friggin' days, you little brat! Three days chasin' around after you! Do you understand me?!?"  
  
"Ed write in note not come after!" the redhead yelped, which was now accented with a little canine-ish bark. "See? Ein say so!"  
  
"Oh, puh-lease! Like I'm just supposed to let you loose on the solar system??? Sorry, missy, but you're still Radical Edward, and besides of which, a kid!"  
  
Faye did not call out to them. She did not want them to find her here.  
  
But apparently, Jet didn't see it that way.  
  
"Faye? Where the hell are you?"  
  
She didn't answer. What was the use in speaking if you had nothing left to say?  
  
"C'mon!" the frustrated ex-cop's voice echoed through the Bebop. "Faye? Spike? Where the hell is everyone?"  
  
Suddenly, the door to her room burst open. An aggravated Jet Black face peeped through the gap, followed by a tan, redheaded face.  
  
"There you are!" he belted. "What's going on here? Where's Sp-"  
  
One look at her tearstained face made his expression change. In an instant, he let the squirrelly adolescent go, tearing down the hall towards Spike's room. It didn't take long for more dialogue to transpire.  
  
"Alright!" his big heavy boots stomping quickly back to the room where a woman, a girl and a dog all watched, confused. "Where the hell is he?"  
  
Faye sighed and spoke softly to Ed.  
  
"You wanna run off to your room, Eddie."  
  
"Ed in trouble?" the girl asked nervously "Well, I imagine so," she smiled halfheartedly. "But not for now. Me and Jet-man have a lot to talk about."  
  
For once in her life, Ed did not ask questions, but picked up the puzzled Corgi from his lying place and slunk back to her own room, shutting the door on the two glaring adults.  
  
"Explain," Jet commanded curtly, pulling up the chair from her dressing table, "From the beginning."  
  
For nearly fifteen minutes, the door of that room stayed closed. During that time, Faye proceeded to describe a very edited (namely, cutting the part where she crawled into his bed) version of the events of the past few days. According to her, Spike had stayed locked in his room for the first day. He emerged when enticed by Faye's teary pleas and his own forlornness, spending an evening watching movies and having deep conversations. Finally, leaving for Mars and Vicious on the second morning after an emotional fight and a heartfelt goodbye, a kiss. At no time did Jet's voice raise to an abnormal level, although he was apt to sigh deeply and take his head in his hand. A few grumbles emitted from under his breath, but he let her go on until she was finished.  
  
"And let me guess," he said at the end. "He kisses you, and you let him go . . . right?"  
  
"Right," she admitted.  
  
There was a long, deep silence.  
  
"So . . . that's that, I suppose."  
  
Faye looked up at him, shock and surprise in her eyes. "That's that?"  
  
"Of course it is," he answered. "By this time, we wouldn't be able to catch up with him if we tried. Nothing to do now but wait."  
  
She looked skeptical. Somehow, it did not seem like a reasonable answer.  
  
"C'mon," he said, leading her out of the room, his hand on her shoulder. "He's a grown man, not a child. He can make his own decisions. We wait. Until then, no use moping in here. I won't allow it."  
  
"Sure," she muttered, following him to the T.V room. There was no use fighting when there was no win. Ed was already out of her room, carefully avoiding Jet's eye as she tried to teach Ein to be a circus lion, her being the lord ringmaster. Faye yawned, brushing her hair with one arm and flipping through the channels as she lounged on the dingy yellow couch. Jet was in the kitchen, fixing two bowls of corn cereal with fruit for Faye and himself, a large bowl of sugar cereal for Ed, and even a cold sausage for Ein. "Can Ed . . . um . . . maybe watch cartoon?" she asked Faye shakily when Ein was tired of being lion, darting her puckish eyes over to Jet's scowling face.  
  
"Sure," Faye groaned, flipping the remote control to her. There was nothing good on anyway. Cartoons might just be the thing. "That alright, Jet?"  
  
"All I ask is that you never do that again, 'kay, Eddie-san?" he asked, ruffling her hair. He seemed to be too broody about Spike to bother about Ed, and it had softened him. "It's not for me to punish you. But I'm getting a little old for that kinda thing, hon."  
  
Ed smiled hugged Jet around his chest as far as her arms would go, and flipped the station to the cartoons. Faye couldn't help but smile when she looked up at the shoddy animation once in a while. The cartoon was completely plotless. The only constant seemed to be a purple rooster running around hitting everyone over the head with a monkey wrench. When a kung-fu bunny appeared from nowhere and began teaching the "team" demented karate moves, her interest waned again.  
  
Where was he anyway?  
  
She could never have guessed how soon she would find out.  
  
"I'm gonna go check some bounties," he muttered angrily, obviously tired of watching the frog and bunny duke it out judo style. "Might as well make some money while we're waitin' around."  
  
With that, he was online, checking the posted bounties. He was typing away furiously, flipping from "captured" to "killed" to "pardoned" on down the list, until it was clear the pickings were getting kinda slim.  
  
"Jesus A. Christ, can't a guy get a br-" he stopped. The keyboard stilled. He was dead silent, as if something had hit him in the head.  
  
"What is it?" Faye asked, scooting over to look over his shoulder. Her eyes froze.  
  
There was a news message reading across the screen; Jet had come upon the link by an accidental keystroke. But this particular accident was of great importance.  
  
The message read;  
  
"Mars, Northwest section, Fever City;  
  
Late last night, at approximately 1:25 am, an anonymous tip reported hearing gunshots near 9th street. When authorities arrived on the scene nearly fifteen minutes later, the bodies of two men were found on the roof of the Sayora building. According to autopsy reports, one appeared to have died from a bullet lodged in the upper right chest and the other from numerous stab wounds to the solar plexus and sides. Investigators on the scene hypothesize both these men were responsible for the deaths. Neither man has been identified. A 250,000 woolong reward has been offered for anyone who can provide information on this mysterious crime. If you have any information, please call the number below."  
  
"Jesus," Jet groaned, picking up the phone and typing in the numbers.  
  
Faye felt herself falling forward into the computer screen. So cold . . . Neither man has been identified. Neither man has been identified. How could it be? No . . . don't fall in!!! Two pools, two eyes . . . open and clear, or stiffened and cold? Her reflection stared back at her from the screen. Two pools, two eyes . . . were they filled with light, or shadowed and empty? Neither man has been identified. Sea breeze breath . . . meditative and soft, or muted forever? Spike Spiegel . . .  
  
Tears started to well in her eyes. "No . . . no . . . I won't believe it!" she screamed as he was hanging up the telephone, causing Ed and Ein to stare at her. "He promised!"  
  
"We've got to go, all of us," Jet growled. "Ed! Ein! Turn off that T.V. We're going to the surface."  
  
"Ooooo," whined Ed. "Not 'til end? What happening?"  
  
"Now!" he barked. "Turn it off and quit whining! We're going in!"  
  
With a few quick taps to the keyboard, the ship gave a start and began to move.  
  
'It can't be you,' she thought to herself as they started to descend. 'It's not you. You promised. God, please don't let it be you,' a tear drifted out her eyes. 'It can't be you. I can't live with that.'  
  
* * *  
  
The landing gear's crunch resounded like thunder through the Bebop. Faye didn't even notice the rough landing. She was curled in a chair, her arms wrapped around her blue-jeaned knees, her face buried as low as she could make it. This couldn't be happening. It was all just a bad dream. She'd wake up in his bed, his beautiful breath on her neck . . .  
  
Jet nudged his elbow at her ribs. Faye's tear-filled green eyes looked back at him, their likeness so close to a child's he could hardly look at them.  
  
"C'mon," he muttered low, taking her arm. "You can't sit here forever."  
  
She didn't answer, but she obeyed, following him out of the Bebop, followed by the uncharacteristically silent Ed and Ein.  
  
"Only one day?" a wiry man in a gray uniform with a nametag reading "Jay" asked.  
  
"Oughta be," Jet answered solemnly. "Might as well make it two, just to be safe."  
  
"2,000 woolong charge," Jay said oily, holding a hand out for the bills Jet was licking off. Faye saw the jerk's eyes scanning over her body, hovering over her chest in particular. She didn't look at him.  
  
"And what's your name?" Jay asked her slyly. She didn't answer him. Scum like that isn't worth the time.  
  
"Hey, c'mon!" Jet growled warningly. "Leave her alone!"  
  
"Little shy, eh?" he tried to put a hand on her arm. "Maybe you and me could go grab a coupla' drinks and go back to-" she tore away it violently, nearly spraining his wrist.  
  
"I'm not the kind of woman!" she answered viciously, her eyes full of daggers. Jay didn't say anything but backed away nervously, holding his hands up. Jet moved a step closer to her; a protective pose. He was still scowling in Jay's direction when they stepped out to the street.  
  
The rain fell heavily on her black satin shirt, slowly making her voluptuous form more apparent as they walked slowly to the Fever City crime lab. Subconsciously, she pulled the folds of her coat closer around herself. Strands of violet hair plastered themselves to the back of her neck.  
  
"Sorry about back there," Jet sighed under his breath. "I shoulda done something . . ."  
  
"No . . . it's fine . . ." Faye sobbed slightly, silent tears running down her cheeks. Of course it wasn't fine, but he already knew that. She was only glad the crime lab wasn't far.  
  
* * * The tiny, badly lit room was white like a hospital room and even more sparsely furnished. Four metal chairs sat against the wall, facing a desk where one small, skinny, pale faced woman sat, reading and stamping papers. Faye slumped one of the chairs, pulling her collar high to hide her tears, Ed clambering into the one next to her and staring. Ein lay his furry head on the floor and tried a few feeble wags.  
  
"Are you Jet Black?" the woman asked. He nodded yes.  
  
"I'll need you to fill this out," she handed him a form. "And she should initial . . ." she motioned toward Faye. Faye initialed on her part before Jet even began to read it. She didn't care what it said. Logic didn't exist right now. There was no reason to follow common sense now. It had defied her one too many times lately.  
  
Ed curled up in the chair next to her and fell asleep. How could she sleep at a time like this? She even went so far as to cuddle her head into Faye's lap, but she didn't even push her away. Other things were on her mind as she stared up at the ceiling.  
  
How could this be happening? No . . . think positive . . . what was she talking about? Positive! . . . since when?!? Faye couldn't even remember the last time she "thought positive." But if she didn't think positive, that meant . . . no. No, no, no, no, no. Can't think that. Anything but that. Anything . . .  
  
But then again, what were the chances? She had read the report herself. Wasn't it rather likely that . . . NOOOOOOO! She forced her mind to shut off. Time for a cigarette. She reached over Ed's head to her purse and opened the faux-gold case, the thin, slender white sticks just asking to be lit. The intoxicating fumes slipped into her lungs and into her mind. It began to fall silent.  
  
"I think that oughta be it," Jet growled solemnly. She woke with a start from her nicotine trance.  
  
The skinny woman put on a pair of bug-like reading glasses and read over the form with a fine comb, asking now and then for this or that identification or registration, until after what seemed hours, she finally put it down.  
  
"That's everything I can see," she said stiffly. "You two, come with me. Will he be okay?" she pointed toward the still snoozing Ed, a protective Ein at her feet.  
  
"It's a she," Faye drawled scathingly, " and Ein will look after her."  
  
The little woman shrugged her shoulders and jerked open a door.  
  
She led them to a room that looked more like a closet than a laboratory. This was quickly explained, as all the clothes appeared to be white lab coats.  
  
"Get some of these on," she ordered them in a way like a school principal, handing them cloths to put over their mouths. "You're going to need them pretty damn soon."  
  
Through what seemed like hundred of turns through identical florescent- light, green-tiled halls, each with at least six doors apiece. It was like a maze, and she couldn't help but get the feeling that it was like they kept going the wrong way. She couldn't be sure, but it seemed as though they'd been by this one pallid painting about three times. Was it just a coincidence, or was the woman trying to stall? Perhaps some terrible truth was lurking just within . . . she breathed in the medicine on her cloth, and tried to feel nothing.  
  
A dark office door was open just a few inches. For some reason or another, it caught her eyes.  
  
"In here," the woman opened the door wider, ushering them inside a cramped room. Two large objects were sitting on a large metal table, covered with white sheets.  
  
"Fingers on the nose," she ordered, strapping a surgical mask around her face. Both Jet and Faye put the handkerchiefs up to their faces. "You ever seen one of these before?"  
  
"What? The dead?" Faye groaned. "More times than I'd like to remember."  
  
"Oh yeah?" the woman asked sarcastically. "Well, don't be surprised. I dunno who these two are, but they're getting ripe."  
  
It must have only been seconds. It must have just been a couple of seconds. But to her it was like hours. Hours and hours. Lifetimes even. And in the lifetimes, she saw herself in the reflection of a million different waters, each one different, each one reflected in an eye . . .  
  
Whoosh! A cavalcade of white cloth. For a second or two, there was no sound. It wasn't processing. Cannot find server. The images were like still photos; another world within a world; confirming with reality and yet somewhere else: past, future or never reality at all.  
  
Eyes . . . cold eyes. Eyes full of metal and frozen wasteland. Green hair flopped forward on a pale, white forehead. Neck twisted at funny angle. Mouth hanging halfway open, like just hearing a really sick, confusing joke it takes awhile to figure. Other joints turned wrong ways, one knee toward another The eyes . . .  
  
"That's him," Jet's voice brought her ears out of the mist. His head was hanging down. He didn't wanna look at him any more than he had to. "That's Spike."  
  
The woman nodded her head solemnly. "And this one?" Whoosh!  
  
White demon . . .  
  
"Vicious Reddragon," Jet continued. "You know . . . the Leader of-"  
  
"Leader of Reddragon Syndicate," she muttered under her breath. "Knew I'd see him in here one day. It was pretty much given."  
  
Cannot find server . . . "Mother fucking bastard," a whisper under his breath.  
  
"Which one?"  
  
"Not sure. Both. . . I guess."  
  
Cannot find . . .  
  
Walking down the hall on a much shorter route, stripping off the white lab coats, pulling masks away from the faces.  
  
Cannot find . . .  
  
Opening the door to find the dog and the girl still innocent and asleep.  
  
Server not found . . .  
  
"Might as well get outta here," he tugged at the girl's sleeve and rustled the Corgi with one foot. "There's no use hanging around here anymore. When's it gonna be?" he asked the small woman. "The burial, I mean."  
  
"Couple days from now," she answered. "Won't be much, but at least it's something, I guess."  
  
Server not found . . .  
  
"Spiky. . . Spiky . . ." Ed asked, slightly teary-eyed.  
  
"Not now, Eddie-san," Jet whispered to her, ruffling her hair. Faye even thought she saw a small tear roll down the ex-cop's face. "Not right now."  
  
Connecting . . .  
  
Suddenly, Faye eyes opened higher. Spike dead. Dead. Deceased, departed, pushing up daisies, lifeless, gone to the big place in the sky, kicked the bucket, finished, Davy Jones locker, D-E-A-D dead. As in never coming back. He broke his promise. He didn't come back. He walked right into his clutches and no win for anyone.  
  
"Faye?"  
  
She didn't answer. She was lost in a terrible void. He broke his promise . . .  
  
"Faye?"  
  
Suddenly, she found herself darting toward the door, found herself out on the sidewalk, running as fast as she could up the street further into the city. The shoes were killer on her feet, and yet she was running, running like she'd never run before.  
  
Somewhere from far away she could here a voice.  
  
"Faye! Come back!" it called desperately. "You don't know where you're going!"  
  
Who was yelling? Why was her face getting wet? She looked up to see that it was still raining.  
  
'Did you see it raining too?' she thought to her beloved.  
  
The voice was dying away. The whole world was swirling into a blackish-bluish-purplish void-like chaos.  
  
'Did you think about her?" she wondered. 'Did you think about . . . me?' 


	7. Faded Silk, Rusted Steel

Disclaimer: Ditto on chapters one and two and three and four and five and six.  
  
Silk on Steel  
Seven: Faded Silk, Rusted Steel  
  
* * * Faye blinked her eyes wearily, the winter sunlight attacking them like so much pain unimaginable. For a moment or two, she just watched the colored dots they made, wondering what on earth had happened. Last she remembered, she'd been running away from Jet . . . and something . . . something so sad and terrible . . . but what? Where was she? Something was wrong here.  
  
Slowly, through the quasi-sobering effects of the gray sunlight, the memories of the past few days started to come back; patchy at times, but back none the less.  
  
* * *  
  
She'd been running, running from that terrible truth lying cold and lifeless on the slab. How dare they call it 'Spike Spiegel?' she'd thought as she run. That was not her love. It was the shell of her love; a cold piece of flesh he'd once possessed. It made just about as much sense as saying the Swordfish was Spike. How terrible a thought. She couldn't take it. She'd run, run as fast as she could from that cold, soulless piece of decay. The streets were a twisted maze of confusion to her, but on, on she blundered, not caring that she did not know where she was going or to get there or how she'd come back. She had to get as much distance as she could from that awful creature, that chunk of slowly rotting meat masquerading as her beloved.  
  
Could no one see? This was wrong. It wasn't real; it couldn't be. Nothing this terrible could dare to be real. It was just some sort of nightmare from which she could not wake. Out of every corner, she expected that black void to appear; the one she fell headlong through, and she would be back in his bed, his pretty breath tickling at her hair, wiping bands of sweat from her forehead.  
  
But it would not come.  
  
Faye had no conception of what time passed, but the next thing she knew, it was dark and the rain had begun again. She was cold and tired and wet. Putting one foot in front of another was like hauling strings of bricks tied to her legs. Desperately, she tried to find her bearings. Where could she go? Her knowledge of Fever City was next to none. How long had she run?  
  
Neon light . . . instinctively, she found her way drawn to them. It was a failing 'open' sign over an old wooden one. 'The Diving Crow," she strained her eyes against failing light. "Room and Drink, reasonable rates." Wearily she dragged herself into a badly lit bar.  
  
Shady looking figures lay hidden by the shadows in corners, snarling lewdly at her as she passed by. She did not meet their eyes, but took a table nearer some light, closer to the bar itself.  
  
"What poison, toots?" A surly-looking little barkeep with a gin-stained apron and a crooked cigarette asked from behind the bar.  
  
"Martini," she answered glumly.  
  
"Nyah-ah," he corrected her, his face hidden behind a porno magazine. "Nona dat fancy stuff here, not even for your face. Ya come here for bare bones."  
  
"Coupla ports then," she grumbled, wrenching her soaking coat away from her.  
  
She had no idea who had come and started buying the ports around about midnight. Slight reminisces of a face, but no name. No memory came of what they had spoken of. All she knew was that around two or so, she found herself being led to a dark room by this young man.  
  
Somehow, she found herself pinned under the unknown figure, making hell, too drunk and miserable to care.  
  
* * *  
  
She had no idea how many days she had spent in this room or under whom. All she knew was that she was still tired after sleeping.  
  
A brown haired teen was lying naked next to her own nude body. She now recognized it as the youth she had met not a few days ago. What was his name? He looked very young; maybe eighteen or nineteen. For a moment or two, she just entertained herself watching his shapely tan chest rise and fall with his breath, wondering who he was. Was he lonely too?  
  
Almost as if he had read her mind, his eyes presently squinted under the burden of the sunlight, his face squishing up before opening a pair of sleepy, blood-shot hazel eyes. She frowned. For just a second of a second, she'd hoped . . .  
  
"Hi," he muttered blearily.  
  
"Hi," she answered glumly, yawning small. "Who are you?"  
  
The youth gave a wolfish-looking grin.  
  
"Zach," he answered. "And you're Faye."  
  
"Yeah," she grumbled halfway to herself. "Faye Valentine." Silence.  
  
"You still tired?" he asked, yawning.  
  
"Yeah," she pushed her face back into the pillow. "I oughta sleep."  
  
"Was it something I said?" Zach asked. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."  
  
"It's not your fault," she spoke through the pillow. "You just reminded me of something . . ."  
  
"Or a someone," a familiar voice boomed from behind the door. "Open the door, kid."  
  
"Who's that?" Zach started, his eyes full of fear. "Are you the cops?"  
  
"Used to be," Faye started too as she recognized Jet's voice. "Open the door. I mean it, junior."  
  
"Look," the kid stumbled towards the door, pulling a pair of checkered boxers back onto himself. "Look, I'm a good guy, I've never done nothin', I- "  
  
"Very interesting. Open the door or I'll do it myself."  
  
"Look, man," Zach's voice was getting higher. "I didn't know she was a hooker. I'm a victim here, man. I didn't-"  
  
CUNCH! The youth suddenly jumped backwards back onto the bed. Faye looked up with a start, just as another THUD! brought several splinters of wood frame raining onto the floor.  
  
THUD! CRUNCH! CUNCH! Three in a quick sequence, the doorknob quavering dangerously. Zach trembled cowardly, holding close to Faye. She pushed him away.  
  
"I'M NOT A HOOKER!" she bellowed as he fell to the floor. "You asshole!"  
  
"Damn right!" Jet's voice suddenly became clearer as a final THUD! popped the door open.  
  
Faye did what she could to pull the sheets around her body, but she couldn't seem to concentrate.  
  
'Man,' she thought to herself, 'how drunk am I?'  
  
Jet scowled, glaring at Zach, who was trembling on the floor, then at Faye, and then back at Zach.  
  
"You're just a good kid, eh?" he growled. "Don't look so good to me."  
  
Zach just continued trembling and didn't answer.  
  
"Get some clothes on," he whispered to Faye. "We'll get you outta here."  
  
"Hey man, I didn't do nothin' here," Zach finally found his voice. "How could I have known she was a-"  
  
"She's not a hooker!" Jet snarled dangerously. "But she is a friend of mine, and I don't appreciate you saying that about her."  
  
Zach did not answer, but backed into a corner, determined to keep his distance.  
  
"I don't know where they are," Faye answered, her eyes fluttering drowsily. "I don't know-"  
  
Jet sighed and took his long coat off.  
  
"Jet, don't," she managed to groan as he began wrapping her up.  
  
"You're not exactly in a position to tell me what to don't do, don't you think?" he asked, lifting her out of the sheets and into his arms.  
  
"Hell, you're so high I doubt you could walk," he walked out of the room, holding Faye as gently and firmly as a child. "It's a damned good thing I found you. You even know where you are?"  
  
"No," she grumbled sleepily. "Not really."  
  
"Didn't think so," he growled. "Hey," he called to the tender. "Sorry about the door. If there's any real damage, I can-"  
  
"F'get it," he sighed, swiping vigorously at spots on the bar. "Not like this place isn't fallin' apart already." His looked up and noticed Faye in his arms, her face tilted away.  
  
"Jesus," he muttered under his breath. "She's . . . she's alright, ain't she?"  
  
"Yeah," he grunted, shifting his arms to make her more comfortable. "Will be in a while, at least. Just needs a little time to clear her head."  
  
"Yeah, yeah," the tender quivered, not noticing his cigarette had gone out, smiling nervously. "Coffee and shower . . . eh, Mr. Black?"  
  
"Yeah. Thanks, Mick," Jet pushed the door with his shoulder, "And there's no mister. It's just Jet. I'm not a cop anymore."  
  
They walked out into the rain. Just like before . . . sheets upon sheets of water. He'd been in the rain . . . Faye squirmed in her makeshift covers.  
  
"Some weather this is," he spoke softly to her as he walked. "Jesus . . . rain and my shoulder . . . I'll be achin' for a week."  
  
"Jet, you didn't have-"  
  
"Oh, I didn't?" Jet interrupted. "What was I supposed to do; just let you run off all alone? Sorry, ma'am, but I ain't goin' for it. I already lost one friend that way."  
  
One friend . . . a tear fell from her eye to her lip. And another. And another. And another until it seemed like her whole vision was getting clouded.  
  
"Hey! None of that!" Jet barked when he noticed her state, but his face quickly quieted. "You done plenty of that already," he continued in a mellower voice. "If not for you, how bout for me?"  
  
Just the sound of the rain . . . it was no use. Her tears were akin to rain. They surfaced to greet their airborne siblings. One after another, they ran down her face. Her whole face was one giant bowl of tears. This time, Jet did not scold her, but went on looking ahead, pretending he didn't notice.  
  
"It's real funny I'd find ya in there," he went on after several minutes passed. "The Diving Crow . . . y'know what that place is?"  
  
She couldn't speak, but she managed to shake her head no.  
  
"Let's just say a broken-hearted police sergeant ran into an odd-eyed cowboy there five long years ago and had a little drink together."  
  
Faye found herself unable to speak, the tears choking her off. How could that be? How very strange . . .  
  
"What are the chances?" he went on. "Fate's funny sometimes. I'm getting too old to believe in coincidence."  
  
Faye looked up at the sky, the gray crying clouds. It was all so wrong and at the same time it all made sense. Right and wrong . . . who draws the line between them? Some people say God, she thought. But what if God makes exceptions? Does everything change because of the exception? Or is the majority the rule?  
  
How do you measure? Faye started to fall back into sleep, staring at the gray sky. When she awoke, they were back at the air hangar. Ed and Ein looked up at her, pondering, wondering; trying in their own way to comprehend what none of them could truly accept. She blinked down at them, trying to smile, but she just couldn't find the heart of it.  
  
"Faye-faye?" Ed asked in a low voice, honest concern in her eyes.  
  
"I'm alright, Ed-san," Jet let her down form his arms at last. She tried her best to keep steady, but lost her balance all the same, falling right back onto Jet for support.  
  
A voice from the corner . . . "Heh! Shoulda known!" Her eyes trailed over, only to discover the one and only Jay, greasy and smarmy as ever, smirking like an alley cat that just got laid. A low sigh emitted from her throat. She didn't need this right now.  
  
"Well, well," he continued, strutting like an overgrown rooster. "Looks like missy got herself into a little spot, now didn't she?"  
  
"Put a cork in it, asshole!" Jet took a step forward, but it did not perturb the ever-incredulous hangar lackey.  
  
"So what was it this time, hon?" Jay prodded on, almost right up next to her now. "On your back or on your knees?"  
  
Silence. Her face remained downcast, shame apparent on her face.  
  
"Oh, I get it," he took her arm once again, stroking her hand. But this time it was not a lecher's touch. It was a touch that said, 'You'd bang anybody anyway.' "You can do a guy in a dive but not me, that it?"  
  
"Shut up . . ." she couldn't remember the rest of the insult. One tear fell to the floor. She really didn't need this right now.  
  
"Oh, are we crying?" Jay crowed mockingly, putting on a girly voice to boot it. "'Oooh, I'm so sad, it's too bad I'm a-'"  
  
"I'm WARNING you!!" Jet's voice roared. "You let her alone or I'll-"  
  
"Aww . . . how sweet!" Jay grabbed her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. "The big strong man is coming to your defense." Faye squeezed her eyes closed, both from his garlic breath and his beady, forbidding eyes. "I wonder what you did to earn tha- AKKT!"  
  
Her eyes sprang back open just in time to see Jet pin Jay to the wall, his metal hand at his throat. Faye's mouth hung open, aghast. The expression on Jet's face, one of pure hatred, pure rage . . . the black dog. Jay didn't look anything like a dog at the moment, but he did resemble a hooked fish. Faye watched in just a little bit of relief, the scrawny man gasping to breath, his eyes full of fear.  
  
"This arm is made of cold hard steel," he snarled into Jay's face. "They had it put in several years ago when I lost it in a gunfight when I was cop. It was designed to the most modern technological standards known to man. It can withhold over 400 pounds of resistance, and not once in nearly eight years has it EVER malfunctioned. And furthermore," he explained with a snarl, holding Jay a few more inches off the ground, "it could snap your scrawny little neck in about two seconds."  
  
Jay's eyes shrank to the size of raisins, a low whimper crying out from his throat. "No . . . no, don't . . ." he finally managed to get out.  
  
"Oh, don't, huh?" he growled, "Well, then, I think you oughta say something to my friend . . . don't you think?"  
  
Jay's raisin eyes struck onto Faye's bleary green ones. "S-s-sor-ry . . ."  
  
"Good!" Jet dropped him to the floor. He lay there, breathing hard, shaking with fear and unable to speak. "Let's get outta this hellhole." Faye's mouth still hung open. It just seemed so . . . so bizarre. Jet took her shoulder and pushed her towards the Bebop, and waiting just a second as Ed blew a very loud raspberry at Jay and Ein gave him a good growl.  
  
"You go on now," Jet said softly once the door was closed. "Go on and sleep it off some more."  
  
Faye could do nothing but comply. Once they were finally back out of orbit, she stumbled her way back to her own bedroom and flopped down, too exhausted to even take a shower.  
  
* * *  
  
Time seemed to pass quietly at last, and for a while, the world seemed very soft for Faye Valentine, snug in her own bed at last, safe from all those terrible things that wanted to hurt her. For several hours, she slept and slept, as if she had never slept in all her life. It didn't matter to her she looked so like a child, wrapped in a big black overcoat, her young face so sad. For a while, things were fine for Faye Valentine.  
  
But all good things must come to an end . . .  
  
Blinking, her great green eyes, fluttered open. For a moment or two, she simply stared around. This room . . . these things; clothes, bureau, chair, bed, make-up and toiletries, even her own reflection in the mirror . . . it was all so alien. How long had it been since she really looked at this room? Maybe everything, everything had just been one dream. Maybe she was still in the ice right now, and all this was just in her head. Maybe Spike, Jet, Ed, Ein, the Bebop, even herself . . . everything that happened . . . could it all just be one big, endless dream from which she would never awake?  
  
Faye shook herself. Of course not. That was what was so damn terrible about it all. It all really had happened. And now, the one man she'd actually learned to love . . . on a table, cold, an enemy, a brother, by his side. Somehow, it seemed such a fitting end.  
  
'Sure,' she thought to herself. 'For him. But what about me?'  
  
She shook herself again. There was no use going on and on like this. The clasps of the jacket fell easily under her fingernails, and she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself. Showers fixed anything.  
  
The cool, warm water splashed on her face and down her sleek voluptuous form, washing away all the residues of the last few days. It was rather awful to see how much just stuff had built up on her. She was surprised she didn't stink to high heaven.  
  
Faye was in the bathroom for over an hour, washing and combing hair, brushing teeth, dressing, applying make-up . . . everything.  
  
And yet she knew she would never be clean again. This stain was not physical. No shower could wash it away.  
  
A black stain had darkened the heart of Faye Valentine.  
  
"How are you feeling?" Jet asked when he saw her waltz into the kitchen. She hadn't had food in who knows how long.  
  
"A lot better," she lied, rifling through the refrigerator. For one thing, her head was still buzzing. And he could probably already guess how she felt. "Isn't there anything to eat around here?"  
  
"You've come to the right place," he revealed a sizzling pan, still covered. The scent was awfully familiar . . . but . . .  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"C'mon, guess first," he prodded.  
  
Faye tried for another minute, closing her eyes . . . nothing. "I give up."  
  
"Surprise!" he said in a very unsurprised way, lifting the cover. "House special . . . bell peppers and beef without the beef WITH the beef!" he chuckled. "I thought for once we deserve some decent food."  
  
"Hnh!" she laughed, taking a heaping plate of the stir-fry-like mix. "I dunno. Sounds kinda weird. Think my stomach can handle it?"  
  
"Man, I learned long ago, ain't nothing you can't handle, and if there is, I'm not gonna try it."  
  
"Yeah . . ." she muttered, looking sadly down. "Nothing can touch me . . ."  
  
"Sit down, won't you please?" Jet asked her calmly. Surprisingly, Faye obeyed.  
  
Jet down in the chair facing the couch. He gave her a grave look, and the words that lay upon her lips fell away in an instant.  
  
"I wanna hear it all," he whispered, looking her straight in the eye. "And I don't wanna hear this sob-story crap. Something went on here, and I think I have the right to know."  
  
A tear fell from her eye onto her lovely silken shirt, making a dark spot where it landed. The whole story, every weeping part of it. Sometimes the tears fell, and sometimes they would not come at all. Jet listened . . . listened. He was quiet, and for the most part, simply listened without emotion, taking his head in his hand once or twice. He heard the whole story, and when at last it was through, she could not help but feel empty, as if she'd lost a lot of blood, and at the same time, relieved, revived, as if some vicious poison had been cured at last.  
  
For a moment or two, Jet simply sat, watching her last tears dry upon her face.  
  
"Listen to me, Faye," he said at last. "I just want you to listen to me. Can you do that?" Faye nodded weakly.  
  
"Good," he growled. "Now look here. I want to show you something. See this?"  
  
Faye watched as he went into his front breast pocket. In his hand, a small, yellowed bit of paper shown through his bulky, metallic fingers. Faye took it an unwrapped it.  
  
"Farewell?" she gasped between tears.  
  
"Yeah, that's right. Farewell. Now listen," he said. "Five years ago, I found this on my bedside table in an empty old house. My wife, Elisa, had left it with a new pocket watch in place of herself. I couldn't find her anywhere. Month after month, I tried to ignore the emptiness I found in that house, that town, in that life I led. But slowly and surely, the sickness started sinking into me. Day in and day out, I could feel myself getting sicker and sicker. And then . . . one terrible morning I woke up to finally see what had been in front of my face for so long. I knew I'd never find her again. I thought maybe if I pretended that everything was normal, it would be. But I should've known it wasn't. It was right in front of my eyes and I refused to see that Elisa was never coming back to me, that my part of my life was gone. So I left it. I couldn't live that way anymore. But deep in my heart, I couldn't let go. For five years, I kept that watch in my pocket, carried it with me wherever I went, unwound. Just like it, my heart would not move on, not a second past the minute she left, always stuck just how she left it. But y'know what? What they say about old dogs not learning new tricks . . . bullshit. Cause while I was cavorting around, what with you young hooligans keeping me on my feet, I learned something. You can't live in the past, Faye. And do you know what? That watch I spoke of . . . is on the bottom of sea on Titan, exactly where it belongs.  
  
"Are you starting to see it now, Faye? The real reason Spike died is just this; just like I, he couldn't let go. Maybe he thought he could, but deep inside, his life was still stuck in the time of Julia, Vicious, and that entire story. I'm not saying that Spike didn't love you with all his heart and soul. To tell you the truth, I could see it all coming. Maybe you two didn't know it, but the both of you really loved each other, whether you wanted to admit it or not. But that isn't what we're talking about, Faye. The reason Spike could not run away and begin life anew with you like he should have was that his past still hung onto him. He could not let go. But going to fight Vicious is, in reality, a proof that he loved. He tried to break that link between his past and his present. That's how he died, Faye. When he fought Vicious, he was truly fighting his past and everything in it.  
  
"Faye, no matter what anyone says about you, you are a great woman, and you deserve a life without pain, just as anyone does. Everyone has a past. Julia, Spike, Vicious, you, me . . . we seem to have particularly tragic ones. It is no one's responsibility or fault, and there's nothing we can do to change it. It's so easy to just wallow in the memories, to stay stagnant and find shelter in them. But Faye, I've already lost one friend that way, and I can't lose another. Please, Faye . . . won't you do that for me?"  
  
Faye suddenly looked up, her eyes flooding with tears. "But . . . I want to keep him alive. I can let him live in my heart forever."  
  
A sad look in his eye appeared to Faye. "It's more important to keep yourself alive, Faye. I don't know where Spike is right now, but I what I do know is this: it can't be worth eternal death to keep him in a fantasy life. Don't kill yourself, Faye. Don't do what I did."  
  
Jet sat up at last, changing the subject very conspicuously.  
  
"Damn this shoulder," he pretended to be sore at it. "Runnin' after you kids . . . I'm losing my hair here. I'm getting to old for this." He walked back down the hall, grumbling as he went.  
  
Faye could do not but smile a bit to herself through the tears. If Jet was losing his hair, he wasn't far from done. 


	8. Just for Forever

Disclaimer: Ditto on chapters one and two and three and four and five and six and seven.  
  
A/N: Wave, fanfic people . . . last chapter . . .  
  
Silk on Steel  
Chapter Eight: Just for Forever  
  
It was oddly quiet on the Bebop tonight.  
  
It was really her fault, if you really thought about it. Jet was in bed, miserable with a head cold which he'd probably procured by running around in the rain for hours without a coat on. He'd gone grumbling off to bed about two hours ago, and despite the home-made chicken soup Faye had botched royally, she could still hear him up sniveling and coughing. For once in her life, Ed was actually attempting to be helpful and had retired to her room for a night of fun-filled surfing, RPing, and hacking on the Ethernet instead of keeping them all awake with her constant antics like normal. Ein was, for once, acting even remotely like a normal Welsh Corgi, and had decided to take a nice long snooze in the air vents, where he could stay nice and warm, just the perfect place for a pup-style snooze fest.  
  
And then there was her, lying cocooned in the sheets on his bed, trying in this mad, twisted chaos of his essence to sort through the layers of her mind and dreams to a place where she could somehow move on and make it out alive.  
  
And it didn't' help that it wasn't so damn quiet.  
  
Faye sighed. She didn't like it much; she'd just gotten so used to constant chaos around here, and then it all changed on her again . . . suddenly the moroseness began to fall over her again.  
  
How was she supposed to get through this? How did you get rid of a guy that just clung to your heart like glue? That goofy grin; that half bitch-ass; half cliché cop-flick, half bluesy jazz profile; that mop-slop-top hair; those mismatched eyes . . . and of course, who could forget that laugh. When Spike Spiegel laughed, it was like his joke on the whole world, especially on himself.  
  
Faye could feel a little tear stray down her face, solitary and lonely. Would she ever, ever in a thousand years hear that laugh again?  
  
Would she ever, ever in a thousand years truly feel alive again?  
  
Trying her best to beat such thoughts out of her mind, she rolled over, facing the wall so none could see the war going on in her tired, clawed heart. None, of course, but anyone who even looked at her face.  
  
And Faye began to sing a little song she knew . . .  
  
"If I had the chance I'd whisk us away Leave this deadly dance On this dark holiday."  
  
She kept on humming the tune, bar after bar, until they drifted away, away into the abyss in her heart that might someday heal again.  
  
But the music didn't stop there. From somewhere that seemed far away, someone was singing, singing . . . singing so beautifully, so angelically, it was as if from other worlds. No longer were the words that of a lament, but of a lullaby. Suddenly, the whole world seemed a little bit softer, a little less violent, a little cruel.  
  
Faye sighed deeply and began to close her eyes. It was all so beautiful. Why couldn't things be like this always? Everything would be so perfect . . . everything . . . perfect . . . perfect if just . . .  
  
". . . if you were here . . ."  
  
"Yes," she answered herself aloud, whispering, "you make it perfect . . . you make everything perfect . . ."  
  
* * *  
  
It was dark . . . frightening. With a sudden shock of pain, her hands hit cold hard metal, the blood pulsing in her fingertips, the surface slick with rain. Faye shook her head. Where we she? Curiously, she looked around. Last she knew, she was trying to fall asleep in his bed . . .  
  
"Ohh!" she gasped, looking down at the street far below. It was so huge, so high . . . sure, she'd been on the tops of big buildings before, but somehow, this was different.  
  
What was wrong with her? Something was terribly, terribly wrong here . . . but what? Where was she anyway?  
  
And then, in the moonlight, rising into vision like a thing of hell . . .  
  
A bright silver emblem: Sayora. . . the name echoed somewhere in her mind, over and over. The question: from where?  
  
Server found. She let out a little cry, clamping her hands to her mouth before she could make another sound. Her knees collapsed and she fell to the floor, shaking.  
  
This was the spot, the hollowed ground, her love had fallen upon. It was here, here he'd smoked his last cigarette, spoke his last words. Here was the place thought the thoughts, dreamt the dreams she would never, never know in a thousand years. On this ground, this ground . . . he had drawn his last breath.  
  
~'Coward'~  
  
In an indefinable dimension, she heard the word somewhere, breaking through space and time. Before her, a silhouette, a man standing brave and proud, a man so familiar . . . a black figure from above, floating down, down, down, a white demon, a master of the night . . . CRASH! In that singular millisecond, two brothers one, and then gone again . . . she sat glued in her spot, her eyes widened in utter awe, watching as silver blade flashing in the dark . . .  
  
~'Is that a fact, Spiegel?'~  
  
Somewhere in Faye Valentine's mind, an eyelash, weighted to a tear-drop, fell upon a mirror and shattered it.  
  
What was happening here? Was she going to have to actually watch him die, watch him struggle with this white dragon for his lasting breath, watch the light flee from his eyes, pupils swell, body go limp . . . her mind came to a crashing halt.  
  
"WHAT KIND OF WORLD IS IT?" she asked to the night.  
  
Her answer would come sooner than she could have guessed.  
  
"Not exactly your ballet, is it?" a voice behind her came. In an instant, the two shadow figures seemed to fade and slowly disappear into the rainy night air, becoming more and more like the air until they were nothing.  
  
Faye whirled around, aghast. Who was that? A figure in the night . . . as her vision cleared, she let out a gasp.  
  
There before her, was tall thin man, cigarette dangling carelessly from his mouth, a great mop of messy, bed-head like hair like a dark bush, brushing in the wind with his long coat fluttering around his lean, graceful form. And those eyes . . . it was so quiet out here, she could even hear his breath, like the waves on the shore . . .  
  
"But . . . but how . . . how-" she stuttered, unable to speak.  
  
"How could I be here when I'm gone?" he finished her sentence for her, crushing his cigarette under his feet. "Sorry. I hate to tell you this, but I'm not exactly sure. Heh," he laughed. "Funny . . ."  
  
"What's funny?"  
  
"I dunno. I guess . . . well . . ." Spike seemed to be having a hard time with words himself. His great beautiful eyes turned toward the sky, searching for some salvation he would never have.  
  
"I guess I just never knew what I was doing, d'you know what I mean? I mean, we walk around, thinking we're the ones in charge, that we're the ones who know what's going on, like we're the kings of the world and everything's just going to up and change for us. But . . . what is our reality, really? If you really think about everything we don't know, everything that isn't in our hands, you have to start thinking . . . who's really running the show here?"  
  
"Spike . . ."  
  
"Mmm?" he asked.  
  
"Why did you leave me?" her tear-and-rain washed eyes staring up at him for answers.  
  
Spike sighed, looking down at her, she being so sad and small, like a little child. He took her in his arms, the rain running down the both of them.  
  
"I'll never leave you . . ."  
  
"But why did you have to?" she clutched closer in his arms, his calm, cool breath ruffling her soaking hair. "Why?"  
  
"I'm always with you . . ." he whispered. "You'll never have to worry again . . ."  
  
"Yeah right!" she suddenly shoved him away from her, an expression of pure rage on her face. "Yeah, you didn't leave me? Then what the hell is this?" she waved her arms around, indicating the surrounding desolateness. "What in hell do you call this?"  
  
"Hey, c'mon now!" he insisted. "That isn't how it is at all. It's just-"  
  
"Bullshit!" she exclaimed, kicking uselessly at the ground. "You gave everything up for this?!?"  
  
Spike found himself wordless, and Faye didn't give him a chance.  
  
"WHAT WAS IT WORTH?" the words rebounded over and over through the street, again and again.  
  
Spike found he could say nothing to defend himself, and kept his eyes down. Faye stared angrily, folding her arms across her chest.  
  
"Yeah. Just what I thought," she snarled.  
Silence.  
  
"So what IS here?" Faye snapped, looking around. "Isn't this sposed to be something at least?"  
  
"She isn't."  
  
Quickly, Faye turned on her heel and came to look at him.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You heard what I said," he repeated, taking a step toward her, warmly taking her in his arms. "She's not here. You mean more to me she is. You're more than anything. She doesn't have a place here. In fact, there's nobody here. There's only two people . . . only us . . ."  
  
Faye looked up into his eyes, those eyes that had held hers for so long. Those eyes, those eyes . . . was she ever going to get over those eyes. Steel and flesh, yin and yang, two sides of the coin, two sacred brothers, one never to be complete without the other, in a war of death and yet in a song of harmony. But no matter what they really were to her, they were his eyes, the eyes of the man that had seen death again and again. They were the eyes of her love. Slowly, the two of them grew closer and closer . . . a kiss . . . a kiss that would last forever . . .  
  
"Don't you ever leave me again," she whispered.  
  
"I never did . . ."  
  
Faye sighed, letting her body meld to his. If only they could stay here forever, to be suspended in this moment for the rest of forever. If only this heaven could be an eternity. If only . . .  
  
If only in dreams.  
  
Suddenly, just as those thought drifted through her mind, something changed in the air. It took her a minute to realize what it was exactly.  
  
The rain . . . she couldn't hear the rain. She could feel it, she could see it . . . but she couldn't' hear . . . What was going on here?  
  
"What's wrong?" Spike asked.  
  
"I don't know . . . what's happened to the rain? . . ."  
  
"Ahhhh," he sighed lowly as. "I think I get it now. Our time's up."  
  
"WHAT?" she couldn't help but raise her voice this time. "What are you talking about, our time up?"  
  
"You're waking up," he smiled, snapping at her nose. "You never were a deep sleeper."  
  
"No! What are you talking about?"  
  
"You're going back home." Now, she couldn't feel the rain either. Spike himself was starting to fade, his colors a little less vibrant than they had been a minute before.  
  
"But I thought I was going to stay here!" she clutched even closer to him. "I want to stay here forever!"  
  
Silence.  
  
"You know that can't be," he sighed. "This . . ." he waved his palm at everything. "You disappear from all this when you wake up. It's the rule around here."  
  
Faye didn't speak. For several seconds, she simply stared at him. She didn't know what to say.  
  
"When will I ever see you again? . . . When can I be with you again?"  
  
Spike smiled that smile she had waited to see so long. He brushed a straggling piece of hair out of her eyes.  
  
"Do you know how foxy you look when you cry?"  
  
Faye gave no answer but to clutch his slowly disappearing body.  
  
"Spike?" she whispered.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Will you wait for me . . . always?"  
  
He smiled again. Faye felt a small smile, yet with the tears, arising together. It was funny how you could smile and cry at the very same time, and yet, it seemed just right just now.  
  
"Of course I will," he whispered back. "After all . . .it's just for forever . . ."  
  
Forever. That was it. The kiss that would last forever . . . a love that would be forever . . . but she couldn't be forever. Faye suddenly realized what Jet had meant. In a sense, this here in her arms, that was forever. But then again, her life was in the real world. She would always have this forever to come back to someday. But until then life was life. That was how he would have wanted her to live it.  
  
That was how he'd lived his.  
  
He was fading more quickly now, slowly becoming lighter and lighter. She could still make out that one same smile, glittering pearl white in the gloom.  
  
"All we seek and all we seem . . ."  
  
"Is just a dream within a dream," she finished the line where he left it off.  
  
"Yeah . . ."  
  
With that, the remaining image of Spike Spiegel, the odd-eyed cowboy, disappeared from sight, winking out slowly, like the memory of morning dewdrops.  
  
And she was alone again.  
  
Slowly, she could feel the whole world beginning to collapse around her, her body beginning to float back into the stars toward the other reality . . .  
  
"If I had the chance  
I'd whisk us away . . ."  
  
* * *  
  
The dark was soft and easy, accepting her with warm, open arms. With halfway reluctant arms, she accepted it.  
  
For a moment or two, she tried to pretend that it wasn't real, that she was still in his arms, still in that endless forever. But that did not last. She opened her eyes, sighing.  
  
So now was the ending, and yet was the beginning. Just as a day was to end, a new one would always have to begin.  
  
That was the way he would have said it. That was the he would have wanted her to do.  
  
Yawning, she began looking around. He was still in here, wasn't he? It was an aura that just seemed to follow him all around, a certain sixth sense so you always knew he'd been around. You could feel him there, like a perfume, an incense that spoke of just one man.  
  
And yet, she somehow felt a new aura in here. It was her own aura, an aura that said yet so clearly "This is the place the two of you lay, and this is the place you can always find your sanctuary."  
  
But where that sanctuary was and where it might take her, she could only guess.  
  
Yawning, she shifted in the covers, preparing to make back for her own room again. It was too lurid in here, memories and ghosts going about freely as they may. She was just getting herself out of bed when she suddenly noticed it.  
  
It was just a common sort of thing; not the sort you usually pay attention to unless you were really looking for it. Still, she was surprised she hadn't seen it until now.  
  
Just lying there on the table . . . one lonesome cigarette, fell short of his pack of brothers laying just a few feet away. It looked so lonesome just there . . . how long had it sat there, just waiting to be smoked, to feel the taste of a flame and never quite there.  
  
Carefully, she looked it over. Strange . . .somewhat loose-leaf, outside stiff and compact, plain, no real trace of flavoring, the hard- core kind of cigarette . . . his cigarette.  
  
Now she remembered. He'd pulled this one out to smoke it . . . but he'd never gotten to it. He'd left before he'd had a chance. He must have taken another pack with him when he left.  
  
Funny, how things like that turned out . . . one solitary cigarette, destined to be the last on his lips . . . and never to have it. You would almost feel sorry for the thing. Left behind . . .  
  
Kinda like her, if you thought about it long enough.  
  
Suddenly, with a slow move to her pocket, she retrieved her lighter. What was the harm of just another smoke? She set it on her lips and lit the tip up.  
  
What was it about this thing that seemed so special? The flavor was stale and bittersweet, just the kind that he smoked; straight like tobacco. There was just a way the flavor danced in her mouth, snapping at her taste buds. Funny . . . this was just the kind of thing he would love; tough, bittersweet, and at the same time, with that old-fashioned, boyish, cocky charm that no one could resist, so simple and yet so good.  
  
Kinda like him, if you thought about it long enough.  
  
Faye felt the fumes grilling through her lungs, taking it away from her lips to exhale in exhilaration. With calm eyes, she watched the smoke drift up and away from her lips, two little swirling snakes, one darker, one lighter, entwining around one another.  
  
That was just the way it was. Two eyes, two faces, two Spikes . . . and they would both live insider her. There was the Yang Spike, Spike of the Light . . . this was the Spike Spiegel that would live in her heart forever, waiting for her in the eternalness. And there was Yin Spike, Spike of the Darkness . . . this was the Spike that had left her alone forever, the one who had died.  
  
But couldn't it be that was the way it was supposed to be? Maybe that was it.  
  
Maybe the world was just one big Yin Yang; one big balancing, unbalancing, whirling, twirling, glorious, terrible chaos, and everything, in this dimension and the others, was just the specks of dust caught in the current.  
  
Maybe everything had to happen for some weird, unknown, nobody-can- even-imagine-it reason.  
  
Maybe this was the way it was supposed to be after all.  
  
And as Faye Valentine sat smoking an old stale cigarette and pondering the mysteries of the universe, but two words came to her.  
  
"Goodnight . . . cowboy."  
  
And just then, if you had listened very hard, very well, as Faye did, you might have heard what she heard.  
  
A familiar voice, with a familiar figure, a familiar sigh, a familiar face, and familiar eyes . . .  
  
"Bang."  
  
But then, it might have just been the wind . . .  
  
THE END  
  
Wow . . . this fic is over. Someone please review it for me. I just have to know. 


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